Oh, it's you. What's happened? You look ill too.

No, it's seeing you like this, suffering.

It's nothing. It lasts only a minute.

You're killing yourself.

If I am, you're the only one who objects. Now, why don't you go back and dance with one of those pretty girls. [She laughs] Come, I'll go with you. [He embraces and kisses her hand] What a child you are.

Your hand's so hot.

Is that why you put tears on it and cool it?

I know I don't mean anything to you. I don't count. But someone ought to look after you. And I could if you'd let me.

Too much wine has made you sentimental.

It wasn't wine that made me come here every day for months to find out how you were.

No, it couldn't have been wine. So you'd really like to take care of me?

Yes.

All day, every day?

All day, every day. Why not? [She laughs]

Why should you care for a woman like me? I'm always nervous or sick, or sad or too gay.

I do care for you.

You know what you should do. You should get married. Ah. Come, come. You're young and sensitive. The sort of company you're in tonight doesn't suit you at all.

Nor you.

No. These are the only friends I have and I'm no better than they are. However, I've given you some very good advice. Now let's go back. [She notices his hesitation and laughs] Oh, what on earth am I going to do with you?

No one has ever loved you as I love you.

That may be true, but what can I do about it? You should go away and not see me anymore. But don't go in anger. Well, why don't you laugh at yourself a little as I laugh at myself, and come and talk to me once in a while in a friendly way?

That's too much and not enough. Don't you believe in love, Marguerite?

I don't think I know what it is.

Oh, thank you.

For what?

For never having been in love. [She laughs at him.]